The Roots In Prophecy
by SingleHearts
Summary: He's never actually seen death; he's never even brushed shoulders with it—stranger to stranger. But Claudia, …no one has lived more death than Claudia.
1. Chapter 1

_You have a lifetime to think of your existence in terms of "what if?" Sit around some corner, or on the sidewalk of some dull neighborhood gazing at some non-existent point, just wondering._

 _I wish life would have granted me such serenity. The privilege to dream about the impossible, to believe wholeheartedly in things that only books speak of, and only hope that somewhere, out there, in some magical kingdom it all does exist._

 _But life works in funny ways, and while there are kids fantasizing of superheroes, werewolves, and witches I am here thinking about "what if none of all that really existed?"_

 _Well, if it didn't I wouldn't be here prepared to tell you all about it."_

"So? Isn't it awesome or what?" She is bouncing on her bed, gleaming childish expectant eyes at him, waiting for some saccharine compliment to burst from his mouth. He, on the other hand, seems sort of dumbfounded by it all.

"Werewolves? Witches?" He frowns; it's not really his cup of tea. He has a thing about not really believing in fairytales, now comic books that's a whole other cosmic.

"Yeah, I think it's quite appropriate," she gestures towards the window, "seeing where we live in."

He scoffs, because he never really thinks about the forest preserve, even though it technically is the pride and jewel of their town.

"Appropriate? Don't you think it's more antiquated, cliché maybe?" He is stretching his arm reaching for her journal when a hard surface hits the back of his head.

"Ow! Wha-"

"It's classics. These stories are classics." She is holding a massive Oxford dictionary in her hands, the one he gave her when she decided she wanted to become an author, raising it above her head like a huge stone ready to be dropped.

"You're right." He nods, holding his hands out in surrender. "Lycanthropy _is_ a classic…"he waits,"... psychiatric disorder," then winces.

He had a moment, in between, to pull back but he didn't, to which he immediately regrets ten seconds after when the weight of over 200,000 defined words hits him again.

Claudia has a history, a lineage of relatives with psychiatric disorders extending back to her great-great-great grandmother, as far as he knows. And, according to such an extensive history, the mental illness doesn't like to skip generations, meaning Claudia's mother got the best of it as well.

"Sorry," he whispers quite apologetically, but it's too late.

Claudia has already pulled back, hugging her knees to her chest, and blocking him out. Every time, every single time the subject is brought up, or slipped into the conversation by his slithering tongue Claudia drifts off.

He gets up from the little stool he'd been sitting on, and looks her way one last time. Claudia doesn't pay him any attention, her mind and eyes are towards the woods as he exits her room.

When he walks out into the late afternoon an autumn breeze impales him from the front rattling his bones from head to toe.

He hates the cold.

He shakes off that death-like feeling and turns back to look at Claudia's window. She is still there, wrapped up like a ball, staring solemnly into some invisible point—lost.

The cold winds pierce him again, and he curses. If a ghost were to ever go through him, he guesses that this is what it would feel like. The thought of phantoms and the unknown makes him shiver again.

He's never actually seen death; he's never even brushed shoulders with it—stranger to stranger.

But Claudia,

…no one has lived more death than Claudia.

* * *

It is at dawn when he is awoken from an earthquake-like shake.

" _Get up_ _._ "

A hand abruptly rocks him making him groan in annoyance. Whoever is rattling him like a ragdoll can go screw themselves; he isn't getting up.

"Damn it Gen, get up," the voice grits again, this time using its hands to shove him towards the edge of the bed. He mumbles something incoherent and lets his weight sink onto the mattress anchoring himself to it. He isn't falling over.

"Damn it Gen."

His back arches when the two boney hands persistently push at his lumbar region. The stretch feels good, cracking a bone or two in the process. He lets his back arch again releasing a satisfied moan.

"You _indolent_ log of a human." The voice sounds exasperated, releasing him from its clutches, but he doesn't care. Instead, he curls up like a fetus in a womb and gets ready to hibernate for another five hours or so.

"I _said:_ Get. Up."

The shock of being stripped comes right after having the covers ripped off of him like a bandage.

"Claudia. What the hell?" He hisses blindly reaching for the covers that are huddled by his feet.

If it wasn't so damn early he would seriously consider getting up just to give Claudia a wet-willy, because he knows how much she _"loves"_ those.

He pulls the comforters back over him once he finds them, and works his way into a blanket like cocoon.

"Un-bee-lievable," he hears Claudia say, and Gen can picture her perfectly: clenched jaw, fists on hips, with a look that kills. The perfect Claudia alpha stance.

"Go away," he grumbles once he is settled under the masses of cotton and feathers.

If there is something Gen hates more than the cold it's being deprived of sleep.

"Jerk! You promised." She bites out before slapping him hard on the side of his head. He yelps and curses under his breath when his head begins to throb. Claudia is seriously going to crack his skull wide open one of these days.

"Lying mongrel," she huffs and he groans throwing a tantrum under the bedspread, because he did in fact promise. Gen promised her a one all American Mischief Night. And to his fucking dismay he never _ever_ breaks a promise, not mattering how stupid and childish the promise turns out to be.

"Fine." He mutters, kicking off the covers like a toddler on a rampage. Next time he makes a promise, he'll make sure to remember it doesn't involve waking up at five in the morning.

Claudia swings her hands to the front clapping and snapping her fingers once in celebration at the favorable outcomes. She is gloating with excitement because, so far so good, she is getting her way.

Gen steels a peek at her out of annoyance. Her smugness this early in the morning rests like bitter coffee on his tongue. He hates coffee.

"I'm not throwing eggs," he says, grumpily getting up to look for his sweatpants. He's going to wear them over his flannel PJs. Screw it, the cold isn't getting anywhere near his delicates.

"Okay." Claudia is rocking back and forth on her heels and toes looking like that innocent child that can play devious mind games behind your back. Gen glares at her through squinty groggy eyes. She isn't fooling him; the cutesy innocent charade doesn't play him. He can perfectly see past the childlike disguise. This girl is no angel; she is more like the devil's nightmare of a niece.

"And I'm not holding toilet paper either," he points a menacing finger at her. He better take his stance now, because this woman can smell fear and weakness like he can smell fried chicken from a mile away. It's a gift.

"You won't have to," she replies with a smirk.

Gen stops digging his head through his hoodie to take a peek at her. "Why not?" He nervously asks, poking one eye out of the Wisconsin hoodie like a shy turtle coming out of its shell.

He may still be a little groggy from the early wake up call, but he is positive he heard an innuendo in her tone. It most definitely sounded like mischief, or trouble or possibly trouble that will lead to physical pain, _his_ physical pain.

She grins wide and he swallows hard. Yeah, there most definitely will be all kinds of trouble.

* * *

"What would our ancestors say? What would our forefathers think? What would-"

"And our foremothers," she interrupts.

"What are they saying right now? They're probably discussing ways to burn us out of existence, right out of the family tree."

He trips over a root but she is quick to grab him by the arm.

"They have to, before we disgrace the family, the lineage, the-"

"I think the disgrace part has already been done a long time ago," she interrupts once again. "Seriously Gen, that sweater itself is enough to earn you a lightning strike on your brainless head."

"Hey, it's called a hoodie. Not a sweater. There's a difference."

They have been walking for minutes on end. Gen's ankles were starting to swell from all the tripping and wobbling they did over the surface roots and bumps of the forest. He's never been a hiking guy, or a walking guy for that matter. His legs are better suited for resting on tables, mattresses and armrests not for escalating forest floors.

"Hoodie or sweater," she states "it's still a piece of rag."

"Hey, this here is a family heirloom. It's been with the family for-"

"Your uncle Bernt gave it to you, and he bought it at a yard sale."

"Exactly." He outstretches his arms as if ready to give the chilly air a huge bear hug. "This Wisconsin hoodie is a treasure, it's moved up from the Watkin's family to the German's. It has enough history to be considered an artifact." Gen looks down as his maroon hoodie and rubs at his chest quite pleased with his possession. That heirloom of his has about six different holes, not counting the ones that are meant to be there. Claudia turns to look at Gen and rolls her eyes. He is simply ridiculous.

"Stop talking and hurry up," she yells back at him as she disappears between the trees. Gen has no clue where they are heading. When it comes to the woods or the forest or whatever place that doesn't involve a road, Cluadia takes main lead. And when Claudia becomes chauffeur there is no guessing where one would end up. Claudia just loves to rattle his bones in nerves and suspense before _**BAM**_ hitting him with the most outrageous surprise that leaves him tumbling down like an old skeleton. He still doesn't know why he follows her around.

"Hey, where the hell are we going anyway? If I remember correctly town is that way." He points over his shoulder with his thumb, but Claudia doesn't pay him any attention. "I thought we were gonna vandalize the town," he continues "or something along those lines." He is crisscross walking, balancing himself terribly with outstretched arms. "I didn't get up from bed at five in the morning just to—Oh Jesus Christ!" He slips on a moss covered rock tumbling sideways towards the bark of a tree. "Claudia, _why the hell-_ "

"We're here." Claudia abruptly halts a few feet ahead.

Gen awkwardly straightens himself up and scowls towards Claudia for not giving a flying fuck about his almost death accident. "What do you mean we're-" all of a sudden he's rendered speechless. He hadn't seen it; he hadn't noticed it through all his squabbling. And now that he _is_ seeing it he can't believe it. It is huge!

"How did you-?"

"I just…ran into it." Claudia is grinning wide, looking like the mad Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. And boy does it feel like he is standing right in the center of Wonderland.

"It's-"

"It's an oak tree," she finishes for him. He's lived next to a forest all his life, but never has he seen something like what is rooted before him. It almost looks like something from the Grimm Brothers' fairy tales.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Claudia asks behind him as he takes cautious steps forward.

It is, and it isn't beautiful. It is mythically beautiful, but it is also nightmarish. Even the trees around it appear to fear it, leaving enough space between them and _it_. Mother Nature only knows what will happen if the other tree's branches, or leaves, accidentally brush against the great oak. Gen suddenly feels a little too self-conscious of where he is stepping. The oak's roots had managed to claw their way up to the surface ground over the years looking like veins on rich soil. One misstep and he will be probably blocking centuries of blood flow, because if he didn't know any better he'd think this tree was actually alive, with a beating heart.

Gen is circling the eighth wonder of the world, barely managing to cover a few feet of its monumental circumference with his human footsteps. The trunk could probably fit a house, extending more than 40 feet in diameter. He feels like a puny hobbit standing in the presence of a giant.

He hears the wind rustling through leaves behind him, and he looks up 10 feet above him half expecting the big oak to awake from a long slumber. But the tree does not rise, nor does it move. Instead, it moans and he jumps back startled. "When I first heard it I almost ran." Claudia speaks from right behind him and he jumps again. "Fuck Claudia," he shakily breathes out. "I wouldn't curse if I were you," she grimaces, "this tree seems ancient. It could get offended." Gen rolls his eyes, and places an open palm over his chest. His heart feels like its doing jumping jacks.

 _What kind of tree moans?_ He asks himself quite annoyed. _Giant trees apparently._

Dawn is breaking entrance to the sun, softly illuminating the trees and ground. Gen can't help but look up again.

Sunlight showers through the leaves of the oak and spreads like a smile on the faceless ethereal plant. Gen shakes his head. This already feels too much for one day. If he weren't nearly freezing he would believe himself to be dreaming.

"We should go," Gen finally looks down, away from the giant oak. "School'll start soon," he says. Claudia frowns, but nods. School is going to feel like such an insupportable bore after this.

They walk almost silently on their way back home, which is surprising for both Claudia and Gen. The image of the great oak tree keeps replaying in their minds. Gen is already imagining how it would trace on his sketchbook, picturing and establishing the shading and angles. He will probably be drawing about five different interpretations of it by the end of today.

"Gramps used to tell stories about an old oak tree," Claudia quietly breaks the silence. "Actually, he talked about two." Gen raises his eyebrow, "Two oak trees?" She nods remaining silent for a few seconds before continuing. "He said they were twins, planted and rooted on the same day. The first of their kind," Claudia kicks a broken twig and Gen scoffs. "That was 5,000 years ago," she continues looking towards Gen. Gen nods, kind of enjoying the household tale. "So what happened to these legendary trees?" he asks amusement dancing in his voice. Claudia shrugs looking back down at the floor.

Gen tenses. Claudia's body language is making his alert senses tingle. He's known Claudia long enough to know when she is losing trace of the real world, and, right now, he feels like Claudia might curl in on herself any second. He is about ready to change the topic of their conversation when she speaks again. "All I remember is that they had a name, their kind." Gen waits, looking at her with confusion in his brows. He really just wants to get out of forest grounds and onto nice solid pavement.

"They called them the Nemeton Trees."

* * *

 **Authors Note: I'm actually super excited about this weird ass fic. I haven't been this excited about a fic since i started writing fics (which is sad, I know) I'm testing waters here because I'll have original characters and I have never dove into Claudia's character before (mostly because I feel I don't know much about her).**

 **Leave a review. Tell me what you think, it really helps to know what you think. Though i think i might continue this fic for my own pleasure even if it's not liked.**

 **Please REVIEW!**


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't get it?"

"You don't get what?"

"How could you not be interested in girls?" Claudia looks extremely worried; though Gen doesn't think it is for his sexuality.

"Who said I'm not interested." He swears Claudia spends way too much time thinking about his private life.

"You just said-"

"I said, I have no time to be thinking _about_ girls," he points a soggy french fry at her. "There's a difference."

Claudia frowns, tapping the side of her thumb against the greasy lunch table.

Gen can almost hear the rusty clockwork-like wheels turning within her thick skull, readying to squeak out an answer out of all of this. He sighs, suddenly losing an appetite for his soggy fries because he knows Claudia won't drop the issue until she gets a firm response.

"Is it-" she tentatively begins after a minute of awkward staring, and Gen lifts an eyebrow expecting the worst, because Claudia's audacity is known to have no limit.

"-are you gay?" she finally blurts out, and Gen almost chokes on his orange juice, his eyes bulging out.

"I'm not gay!" He coughs out, sounding a tad bit too defensive. Which he quickly realizes was probably a huge mistake when Claudia begins grinning widely at him.

Gen slumps in his chair, suddenly feeling weak in the joints.

It doesn't bother him that Claudia thinks he might be homosexual. It bothers him to know that she finds this interesting. Finds _teasing_ him interesting. It makes him feel nauseous.

"I'm not gay," he states again, a little more relaxed this time hoping that Claudia will drop the topic and move on.

He really hates being the center of attention.

Claudia is still smiling at him when she throws him an insinuative stare that asks, _"Are you sure?"_ To which he quickly annoyingly replies, _"_ _ **Yes.**_ "

This isn't the first time Claudia has managed to push at every one of his buttons. It probably won't be the last either. But her taunting still manages to get him all flustered and riled up.

She grins again, and he's just about ready to get up and leave when she asks "Yes you are sure you're not, or yes you're sure you are?" Her eyes are twinkling with laughter, and he wants to stay annoyed. He wants to be mad, but he can't.

So he groans and slams his head against the table instead.

"Damn, okay Gen. I was just kidding around. Learn to take a joke you old prune." She says as she lets out a little laugh, and he groans again.

Gen can take a joke. He has a good sense of humor, the only problem is that he has difficulty finding the funny in Claudia's very stylistic and subjective comicality.

"You know, that's the problem," she points a finger at him and begins swooshing it around like a magical wand, "Your brooding aura. It scares them all away." Gen lets out an incredulous snort before rolling his eyes. He seriously doubts his "broodiness" is the cause for his single status; it is more like his whole face is the real issue.

 _A smile isn't enough to wipe the unattractive away,_ Gen thinks to himself.

Claudia shakes her head twisting her mouth in disagreement. "It's not that Gen, really. It's your whole sour prune air that's the real problem."

Gen's eyes widen.

He has no idea how she does it. It still amazes him after all these years. It's like she can read his mind word for word, and it makes him anxious as hell to think that she may be capable of such a thing.

There are certain thoughts and opninions that need to be kept a secret. Like the fact that he sometimes finds her smile not to be all that scary. Stuff like that could ruin him if they were brought up to the surface. And so Gen fights hard, every day, not to be an open book for Claudia Bieliński, which may be the reason he's become such a morbid introvert.

"If it weren't for the fact that I pity you," she says, "I would have seriously considered trading you in for a more uplifting being." Claudia runs her fingers through her brown hair and sighs. "God knows I need more than a little light in my life."

Gen frowns, but not at Claudia's comment. He is frowning at her hair, which is a mess, much like Claudia. It stretches below her chest, and never stays still.

Claudia gave up on the idea of styling it when she was nine, right after her mother died. She became of the belief that it was a waste of time after she discovered she couldn't get it to sit just right like her mother once had. "Why bother, if it always ends up looking like a hurricane went through it by noon," she would say, and he'd never disagree.

He kind of likes her tousled bed hair though. It looks natural and unpredictable. It just screams Claudia to him from all angles.

"You're right. You _could_ use a little more sunshine," he says. "You're too pale."

Claudia squints her eyes at him and grits her jaw.

She doesn't hate how she looks, atleast he doesn't think she does. But she does hate when people talk about her appearance.

Claudia knows she's pale and skinny, that she has the breasts of an eleven-year old, and that she probably has way too many beauty marks on her skin for it to be 'endearing'. In simpler terms, Claudia doesn't need people constantly telling her what she already knows.

"Speaking of sunshine," she leans forward deciding to ignore the comment about her skin's lack of pigmentation. "Guess who I accidentally bumped into this morning."

Gen raises his brow, looking not at all curious, because Claudia tends to bump into a lot of people.

"Mireille," she answers with a smile "Mireille Drywater."

* * *

Mireille Drywater was probably the most talked about person in town two years ago.

She went missing for about two weeks right after Halloween, but wasn't reported to the station until two days after her disappearance. It was a scandal to behold in their little town of Northfork, West Virginia were the population consists of only 415 people, soon to be 416 with Gen's brother on the way.

There had been missing ads flying everywhere, sirens crying every night for four nights straight, and the smell of baked cookies and pies in Gen's kitchen for about a week. (His mother tends to bake uncontrollably when she's worried.)

In conclusion, those two weeks turned Northfork into A Nightmare on Elm Street, and nobody here _ever_ tends to forget something like that, especially Claudia who has a fascination for everything dark and mysterious.

"Claudia, not again," he groans remembering the last time they both "accidentally" bumped into Mireille Drywater.

"No, it was an accident this time" Claudia quickly replies. "I swear." She lifts an open palm towards him, and uses her other hand to mark an invisible cross over heart. Gen sighs, but decides to believe her.

Claudia is a terrible liar anyway.

"Before I came to school," she begins "I went back to the tree place—"

"Why did you go back to the-"

"Not important," she quickly dismisses him, and Gen glares. Claudia may not have followed Mireille, but that doesn't mean that she wasn't up to _something._

"And I found her there." Claudia finishes, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Gen simply stares at her, not really understanding what the fuss is all about.

"So?" He shrugs. Claudia throws her hands in the air. " _So_! What the hell was she _doing_ there?" She silently screams.

"What the hell were _you_ doing there?" He counteracts and Claudia rolls her eyes. "God, you're impossible," she grits out "Aren't you a least bit curious?"

As a matter of fact he is, and very. But not about Mireille.

"Why? It's a forest preserve for the public," he shrugs again. "You go lurking about the woods almost every day, no problem there."

"Gen, seriously."

Yeah, seriously. He doesn't know what she wants from him.

"Remember the night they found her completely naked and in some sort of shock." She asks and he nods. "She'd been in the woods," she says, but Gen still looks completely lost. "Exactly _two point five_ _miles_ away from her home, just to the side of the river bank," she concludes.

Gen doesn't know where she is going with this, and he figures Claudia can tell because then she adds: "This morning I found her lurking about the woods _exactly_ two point five miles _away_ from her home. By the river bank."

There is a pause, probably meant for a dramatic effect, but it's making Gen nervous. Claudia is looking at him with those expectant eyes of hers waiting for him to say something, and he doesn't know what he is supposed to say. The silence is building her excitement, he can sense it, and it's putting too much pressure on him.

"Naked?" he finally squeaks, and she kicks him under the table.

"Ow! Damn it Claudia!" he rubs at his shin, cursing himself for saying the first thing that came to his mind. He knows better than to not take Claudia seriously when she says the word 'seriously'.

The bell rings, and they both get up, Gen limping because Claudia's kick wasn't exactly "playful."

"You know, I'm not gonna do it again," he says to Claudia as they walk down the hallway. "I'm not going to spy on my neighbor again."

Claudia abruptly stops in front of Gen causing him to stumble backwards. "Nobody is asking you to do anything," she tells him. "But-" she holds a finger up to his face "if I were to ask you we both know you wouldn't be able to say no." Claudia puts her finger down and smiles.

Gen purses and twists his lips. He really hates it when she's right.

* * *

It's the last class of the day: biology. Gen detests biology. Mr. Lavelle is a douche, and his class is a drag. Which is why he always picks the last desk at the end row as his seat, the one next to the window behind Andrew Gurget, the largest fellow in the class, so he can safely draw and daydream behind the broad form of Gurget without any fear of getting caught.

It's perfect.

Gen pushes his biology textbook to the side, after Mr. Lavelle has finished taking attendance, and pulls out his sketchbook along with his chewed up pen from his backpack to begin his second rendition of the ominous oak tree. He drew his first version in English class-a light pencil sketch-which he isn't particularly fond of. The tree looks too friendly and almost too surreal to be authenticated as real. It bears no resemblance to the character he'd witnessed that very morning. His next illustration of the great oak must be of one that evokes unease. A vivid rendition of the great oak.

Gen raises his pen to the sketchbook and begins scratching away, determined to do justice to the giant tree that's hidden in the forest.

Mr. Lavelle is sixteen minutes into his lecture and Gen eleven minutes into his drawing when a tall slender figure walks into the classroom. It catches the attention of every single individual in the room except for Gen, who is too busy carving ink into his sketchbook to notice the unnerving silence that has settled within the classroom: Gen runs his pen over the same wonky line once more denting the paper as he presses down harder on the page. His fingers are covered in black ink, and so is the side of his palm as he continues to accidentally smudge the dark liquid. He is too invested in this. His focus creating a barrier against anything but the drawing.

Mr. Lavelle calls his name for the second time, but Gen doesn't hear. He scratches a few more lines into his artwork instead.

His piece is turning out to be dark and messy, but he doesn't mind. It has the look that he wants. It looks completely demonic.

"German!"

Gen's head shoots up. Everyone in the class is looking at him, twisting around in their chairs to get a better view.

"Um. Y-yes?" He stutters. Mr. Lavelle is frowning at him, arms crossed in front of him. Gen has a second of utter panic, the kind, he figures, comes after awaking from an unconscious state and not knowing where one is.

"There Miss Daywater," Mr. Lavelle points towards the empty seat next to him "that will be your seat for the rest of the semester, right next to Mr. German."

Gen blinks once and then twice.

"Aren't we lucky Miss Daywater was able to join us Mr. German," Mr. Lavelle says. "You were beginning to look a tad bit too lonely back there." A few kids in the classroom begin to laugh but Mr. Lavelle quickly shuts them up.

"Please Miss Daywater, if you don't mind, I have a class to teach."

Gen turns to look at where Lavelle is looking, and a knot quickly forms in his stomach. Mireille Daywater is standing by the door, looking as terrified and lost as she did the first time he met her eight years ago. Reality quickly settles: Gen finally coming to understanding with the current situation he is in.

Mr. Lavelle gestures towards the back of the class again, and Mireille finally moves, making her way quickly towards her assigned seat. Gen watches her, panic reflecting through his saucer-like eyes. Silence has settled back down over the class, but Gen can't hear it through the nervous beating of his heart. The novelty of her arrival seems to have already been forgotten by his classmates and the rest of the world. Yet, here he is: completely awestruck. Mireille pulls her chair back and sits down. Gen tries for the first time in a long time, to fit in with the rest of the world, but he can't.

Unknowingly, Gen begins chewing on his pen - a habit he's developed for when he is struggling to piece his thoughts together. Mireille Drywater is sitting next to him, and never, in all the time he's known Mireille, has he ever been this close to her. To make matters even more awkward, he and Claudia had just been talking about spying on her just hours ago.

With much effort he steals a sideways glance at her, curious to know how she looks up close. She is sitting still, hunched over a torn notebook, coal black hair falling like silk curtain over her shoulders shielding her profile from him. She shifts and Gen quickly darts his gaze to the back of Gurget's head. He grinds his teeth harder against his pen, forcing himself not to look back at her, tempted to check if she noticed him looking.

Class continues in it's usual pace. Small breezes of autumn air sneak through the open cracks of the classroom windows causing the rustling of sheets and pens on paper to swivel through the air and intermingle with the sound of faint yawns and dozed breaths. The setting would be quite peaceful if it wasn't for Gen - tense and glaring holes to the back of Gurget's head.

He is afraid that his own body might betray him. With his running thoughts consuming his mind he fears his body could easily find itself leaning towards Mireille; his eyes staring blankly at her. He goes rigid at the possibility. Eight years of being neighbors to Mireille with only a few mishaps of awkward embarrassing moments, Gen isn't about to put the icing on the cake. He shifts slightly to his left, towards the window. Claudia could stay guessing all she wants, he thinks to himself. Because, now he is most definitely certain he will not be attempting to spy on his neighbor, again. He isn't even curious to know why Mireille was frolicking through the forest early this morning. Not even curious to know what exactly happened those nights she went missing. No, he doesn't care.

He sighs. Who is he kidding. He is just as curious to know as Claudia is.

Gen hadn't stopped gnawing on his pen. The plastic had begun to crack under the pressure of his worrying teeth, but he hadn't noticed yet. His eyes were still glazed with signs of daydream. Mireille bit the inside of her cheek. She was about fed up with the squeaky noises the pen kept making inside of Gen's mouth. Her fingernails had finished ripping holes through her sleeves and were now reaching for her skin. She closed her eyes trying to imagine the rustling of leaves and the smell of forest rain, but the squeakiness of the plastic managed to get past all her self-soothing attempts.

Mireille clenched her jaw. She heard another crack, and she knew that it'll soon be over. One more gnaw and he'll be bleeding ink from his mouth. Sadly, whatever was drawn on his sketchbook would suffer the spill. Mireille stole a quick glance at the sketch.

Right before the bell rang, Gen gave the pen one last bite and the plastic finally cracked. But before Gen could panic about the ink mess, Mireille stood up and pulled the pen right out of his mouth.

Gen gasped in surprise, pushing his chair back expecting to find black ink splattered all over his drawing. But when he found it was untouched he slouched.

"Hey wha-" he stammered looking up, but Mireille was already gone. Gen brushed his lips with the back of his hand, wiping away ink and faint traces of blood. The plastic had cut into his bottom lip when she pulled the pen away. At least, that is what he thinks happened. Though he can remember feeling something sharper slashing into his skin before having his favorite pen taken from him.

Mireille dashed out of the classroom. Her hand clenched into a fist, choking the ink out of a broken pen. Her breathing was heavy, and she ducked her head letting her hair fall forward to keep her face concealed. She clutched her notebooks closer to her chest with her other hand, curling her fingers to hide them from view. Mireille made her way quickly down the hall hoping that the black ink spilling from between her fingers in her other hand would be enough to mask her claws.

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE: I hope at least some of you made it to the end of this chapter. If it was dull and utterly boring I apologize. I truly do apologize, especially to the wonderful reviewer, because your review was extremely awesome, it made my day when i read it so thank you. (BTW dont feel obligated to continue with this fic if it begins boring you, because that is not what i want. I want you to enjoy the read =) )**

 **Oh, and Mireille is pronounced (mee-RAY).**

 **Thank you =) And if you feel it is worth it please review. Thanks again, and we shall see if this fic is worthy of another (hopefully less boring) chapter =)**


End file.
